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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015756">Champagne</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongstation/pseuds/wrongstation'>wrongstation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>General Hospital</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:20:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongstation/pseuds/wrongstation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A sigh passes his lips quickly and he looks away, expression moody before the firm line of his jaw relaxes and honesty escapes.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carly Benson/Johnny Zacchara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Champagne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When it slips out of his mouth, it's an accident. A truth previously unrealized, and the person who pulls it out of him is all too appropriate. </p><p>It feels like it's been weeks since he left the penthouse, since Sonny blew his secret at the benefit. Since sleeping with Carly. In reality, it's been a few mere days, but the air outside of Kelly's feels refreshing. He knows he should be at home keeping an eye on Anthony, but his grandfather isn't someone Johnny can take in large doses. He's nursing a cup of coffee when someone approaches, and he knows the perfume before he even looks up. </p><p>"It's freezing out here, John, what are you doing?" Olivia clucks, but she takes a seat across from him in the winter New York air. She looks good, if not a little tired, but Johnny doesn't say so or ask questions. That ship sailed a long time ago.</p><p>"That's what the coffee's for," he argues blithely, tipping the cup in her direction.</p><p>Her eye roll is almost audible but she doesn't comment further. Instead, he feels her eyes boring down on him, wordlessly scrutinizing everything from his unshaven face to the jacket that probably could have been heavier for the season. "How are you? I haven't seen you since..."</p><p>He scoffs, but not rudely, eyes flashing up to meet hers for the briefest of moments. "What, since Sonny told the world Claudia was my mother?" He almost chokes on the m-word. Somehow, it still hasn't gotten any easier to say. "I haven't exactly felt social." </p><p>Olivia has the grace to appear sheepish for the reminder, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "No, I guess not." She looks like she has more to say, like other words are pushing at her lips, confessions, more questions, and his heart breaks a little when he thinks about how they'd once shared everything. "Well. I'm gonna... just..." </p><p>That's when he knows she has a lot on her mind, because Olivia isn't the stuttering type. She isn't awkward. She isn't overly concerned with what people think, and concern crosses his face as he leans forward to stop her from getting up. "Hey, wait. You okay?"</p><p>It almost feels like he shouldn't ask, like it's not his business anymore. Does he seriously want to hear about Steve? Not really. He does want to tell her about Kate, warn her that Kate and Connie are fighting for dominance in her cousin's head, but it's not his fight so he doesn't. </p><p>"I heard that Sonny came after you," she finally says. It's not what she wants to talk about and he knows it, but he nods along. "That Dante and Carly stopped him." </p><p>"Yeah, I was lucky they were there." </p><p>She ponders that for a minute, then the uncomfortable expression crosses her face again, and suddenly Johnny knows what she's about to ask before she even says a word. "Be careful. With Sonny." </p><p>"Just with Sonny?" he pushes, and it's maybe a dick move, but he's been defending himself to Anthony so much these days that it's second nature. </p><p>Olivia's mouth purses in the way it does when she's trying to hold back a smart remark, that split second fight with herself to be honest or to be tactful. "And with Carly," she concedes, and she leans forward the table again, elbows resting on top. She talks with her hands, punctuating her next words with helpless twists and flicks of her fingers. "What are you doing, John? You know that's not gonna end well." </p><p>He doesn't want to hear this. He doesn't need this. But there's so much history between the two of them, such a rich and wonderful bank of memories, from their first night to the last one. A sigh passes his lips quickly and he looks away, expression moody before the firm line of his jaw relaxes and honesty escapes. "I care about her." </p><p>It breaks every rule in the book about having a healthy relationship with an ex. You don't open up about your current significant other. You don't talk about things like this. Sweep it under the rug, pretend you're both celibate. Lie. </p><p>"You're a good person, John. Too much so for your own good sometimes. I think you're getting yourself in over your head with Sonny."</p><p>"It's not about Sonny!" He doesn't mean to shout, but the statement rips out of his throat defensively, and she leans back out of reflex. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, shoulders deflating as he puts the cup down before he squeezes his fist around it. "I'm just tired of everyone thinking we're only together to get to Sonny."</p><p>His mistake is saying 'everyone', because he can't let her know he's hiding Anthony. He holds his breath, but if she notices the slip, she lets it pass. "You got real feelings for her?" </p><p>Despite the awkwardness of the conversation compounded by the even more awkward conversationalist, Johnny feels himself nod. "Yeah, I think I do. I haven't felt this way about anyone since..." he trails off, and then reluctantly finishes the thought when her eyebrows raise questioningly. "Since you." </p><p>The statement obviously surprises her, and Johnny tries to figure out if there's hurt there, if it bothers her, but all he sees is sadness. "Oh, honey," she murmurs, two slender fingers coming up to rub circles at her temple. "I want that for you, but... not with her. I don't want you to get hurt." </p><p>"Thanks for your opinion, but you can save it for your doctor." His poker face is back up, expression hardening again as he stands up. "Take care of yourself, okay? And keep an eye on that cousin of yours. If anyone's gonna get hurt here, it's her." </p><p>He can feel her questioning expression behind him, but he doesn't turn back. </p><p>It's not until later, when he's back in the suddenly stifling penthouse, that he realizes how true his words had been. He was falling, and that was something he hadn't seen coming. Picking up the phone, he tosses a glance toward the stairs to see if Anthony is lingering, but the coast seems clear. </p><p>"Hey, it's me," he says when Carly answers, amazed at how quickly a smile finds his face when she is involved. "You feel like gettin' one of them fancy rooms at your hotel for the night? I'm in the mood for a little champagne."</p><p>- - </p><p>Between Sonny's arraignment, his run-in with Todd, and an oddly blooming friendship with Blair, Carly is starting to feel her age. Her days at home have been limited as of late, Josslyn spending more time with the nanny than with her, but she's never been the best at juggling acts. She knows her little girl will understand, and she has every intention of heading home for the night when her phone rings. It's Johnny, and she can't help but smile as she answers. </p><p>"Champagne, huh?" She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, eyes darting back and forth between the door and the elevator as she stands in the MetroCourt lobby. Motherhood is telling her to go see her little girl. Womanhood is telling her to see Johnny. "Meet me in an hour," she finally tells him. It's been so long since anyone new has weakened her knees, and her resolve has weakened right along with them.</p><p>A quick trip home gives her just enough time to kiss her baby girl, shower, and pack a bag. She thinks that maybe she should have questioned why he wanted to meet at the hotel and not his penthouse, but her mind is already busy thinking about other things. Other things that definitely do not involve logic, questions, or any type of speaking. The lingerie she puts on under her dress is lacy and completely age inappropriate, but her cleavage rises above the collar of the dress as a result, and she feels better about herself than she has since the divorce. Well. Breakup. </p><p>She beats him back to the hotel and has just perched herself on the bed with a glass of champagne when his keycard slides in the door. </p><p>"Now that's a greeting," he says, already speaking through a grin. His smile is more intoxicating than the drink, and he slides into the room like a sleek and graceful cat.</p><p>"You think? I don't know... it might have been better without the dress," she muses. There's something on his face that she can't read - or maybe something she isn't quite ready to put a finger on, but she's the queen of deflection when she wants to be. </p><p>He makes no apologies for the way his eyes move over her body, appreciative but not possessive, and he's pouring himself a glass before speaking again. "Now why would you want to deprive me of taking it off you?" </p><p>Men like Johnny are usually either good with talk or good with actions. She hasn't exactly slept with a village despite what people believe, but she's been around the block enough to know. But Johnny? Johnny's good with everything, and she already wants him thirty seconds after he walks in. She's found herself blanking out at work, disappearing into space and fantasy, and they almost all involve Johnny's hands pushing up under whatever she happens to be wearing. </p><p>"You're in a mood," she notes, watching him over the rim of her glass as she takes a slow sip. She's using the glass like a sexual prop, her fingers wrapped around the stem with a light touch, her lips smudging against the glass even when she's not drinking from it. "Did you have a good day?" </p><p>"It's better now," he answers, which isn't really an answer at all, but she can forgive him the avoidance because he's moving toward her. He's stepping out of his shoes, sitting down on the bed next to where she's propped. "Been wanting to see you." </p><p>"Here I am."</p><p>He smiles at that and takes a drink, echoing, "Here you are," before setting his glass down and plucking hers from her hand as well. Both glasses rest forgotten on the nightstand, bubbling without an audience.</p><p>He kisses her like he's been thinking about doing it all day, cupping her face in one hand and using the other to push his weight fully onto the bed. Before she knows it, he's hovering over her and she can't help but purr at the way his weight feels. It's different from the first time, the first night. Not as frantic, like he was afraid she'd take off before they got too far. It's still new, but he feels much more sure, more confident in taking his time and kissing her thoroughly. He taunts, swiping his tongue against hers, flicking it across her lips only to let it retreat back into his mouth. After the third unsuccessful attempt to catch and claim his tongue, Carly gets frustrated and bites his lip. She can feel more than hear the low rumble of laughter as he gets the point, and suddenly he's surging into her. </p><p>In an instant, his tongue is plunging into her mouth with purpose, and that fade is happening again. That feeling where everything else drops away, the world is nothing but a dull ring in her ears, and her hands just want to grab. She's clawing at his back with both hands before she realizes she's doing it, already reduced to weak limbs from one kiss. She's always liked this part best. Always liked kissing. It's more intimate than taking your clothes off, more personal than sex. He tongue fucks her mouth and she knows she's a lost cause. The world can say whatever they want, but this feels too good to ever let go.</p><p>It takes a few helpless moments of hungrily responding to his kiss before Carly realizes she needs to get the upper hand back somehow. She can practically feel that smirk curving his mouth, can see it in her mind without even trying. She's not the kind of woman to just let things happen to her, and she shifts underneath him so that her legs can spread as far as the dress will allow, hips pushing up. One roll of her hips against his denim clad lower half and Johnny is gasping, a victory that Carly laps up with a smirk of her own. </p><p>She's always known how to handle a man in bed. How to touch him, how to get her way, how to feel as good as possible. It's harder to handle a man that wants in her heart as much as her panties, and there's a little voice telling her that Johnny is one of those men. The thought is enough to scare her and she pulls back unintentionally, breaking the kiss and trying not to think about the fact that her breasts are heaving against his chest. </p><p>"You okay?" he asks, lips swollen, his tongue swiping briefly across them as he leans back, resting weight on one arm and looking down at her. </p><p>That's a good question, but she doesn't answer. She just looks up at him for a minute, eyes moving over him as mind and body start to fight. His eyes are what really draw her in, soft and worried, and she knows in that moment that Johnny's not going to hurt her. Despite her failed marriages and all the reasons in the world that she should turn and run from the feeling in her stomach right now, she can't. </p><p>He's still looking down at her and waiting for an answer, but she has no use for words. Instead, she leans up and starts kissing the corner of his mouth. Little nuzzled kisses, her hands slowly working the buttons of his shirt. One by one they pop open until the fabric parts and she slides it from his shoulders, down his arms. The kisses are still barely there, feeling his breath across her face as he tosses the shirt aside. His arm goes around her now arched waist, but she doesn't let him deepen any of the contact. Not yet. </p><p>She hikes her dress up so that she can sit up with him kneeling between her thighs, dropping her head and kissing his shoulder. Her mouth caresses over the skin, sliding up the side of his neck and around to the spot below his ear. With each little kiss, she can feel him start to tremble, can hear his breathing start to get more and more labored. Carly can't tell him yet that she's getting in too deep. Those words won't come, but she takes her time showing him. Her mouth makes its way back up to his and they kiss, his shaky breath escaping into her mouth with the effort of restraining the desire they're both feeling. When the kiss breaks and she looks at him with a tilted head, she sees that his eyes have darkened several shades. </p><p>"Lay down," she murmurs, hands on his shoulders as she slips out from underneath him. He shifts onto his back and makes a sound of dissent when she stands up, but one raised finger silences his further protests. </p><p>On his back, Johnny watches her with intrigued eyes as she stands beside the bed and slowly reaches back to unzip her dress. Inch by inch, it slides down her body until it hits the floor and she's left in the lingerie she so diligently picked out before joining him. Black and lacy, her body is tan and lean and on display for his eyes. She's not worried about the dress, but picking it up is an excuse for her to turn around and slowly bend down. Her ass is the thickest part of her body, and the boy cut practically turns into a thong as she bends. </p><p>"Love that ass," she hears Johnny murmur, and she slowly stands back up and looks over her shoulder with an innocent expression as though giving him a show hadn't been her intention. </p><p>"Mmm, you don't say," she teases, playing off the fact that her stomach surges with butterflies at how desirable his eyes make her feel. </p><p>The dress gets tossed on an empty chair and she makes her way back to the bed, straddling his thighs as lazy hands go for his belt. He's palming up and down her arms, and when his hands bridge over to her breasts, she's once again putty. She falters in her task and closes her eyes, hands stilling as she lets him touch her. He knows what he's doing, knows how much pressure to use, fingers slipping into the fabric to roll a nipple between his fingers. </p><p>They touch each other like it's a chess game, a squeeze of her breasts exchanged for the heel of her hand rubbing friction against the hardness in his jeans. They torture themselves and one another with over the clothes foreplay until she's all but dry humping his leg, thighs trembling, pulsing for him without a single touch inside her panties. It's only when she thinks she's about to go out of her mind that she gives in and lifts from his body enough for him to shove off the rest of his clothes. Jeans and boxers fly to the floor in a matter of seconds, and he's not laying down patiently anymore. He's reaching for her, eager hands reaching around to undo her bra, followed by an equally hungry mouth that sucks at her nipples like his life depends on it.</p><p>Every move of his tongue has her back arching, gasps falling from her mouth that she thinks she should be embarrassed about, but she's not. Not even a little bit. His intensity is intoxicating and she's completely drunk on the things he can do to her. </p><p>By the time he finally gets her on her back and peels the rest of the lingerie from her body, she's all but writing with the need to be touched. His hands and mouth have been everywhere else, sliding over every part of her skin, and she's throbbing. She knows he's trying to make her beg. Trying to make her so desperate that she cries out, and she knows because she's doing the same thing to him. They're at an impasse, mercilessly trying to one-up the other even now, but she knows exactly what evil direction to take. </p><p>On her back, waiting for him to do more than kiss her neck, Carly shifts a bit until he pulls back and she has his attention. With his eyes on her, she slides a hand down her own body, between her breasts, over her stomach, until two fingers rub against her wet heat. She's doing it to screw with him, but there's nothing fake about her moan. That's all it takes to break his resolve, and suddenly he's everywhere. Pushing her back into the mattress, his mouth hot and possessive on hers as he knocks her hand away and replaces it with his own. His fingers rub, roll, tease, and finally thrust into her. It's downright pornographic, the sound of wet slapping as his fingers work her. Even more lewd is the string of sounds that come pouring out of her. She practically mewls into his mouth, and she feels generous enough to wrap her hand around his cock, feeling it thick and hard in her hand.</p><p>The more they touch, the less it's enough. It takes one long, even thrust for him to bury himself inside of her, and she feels like sobbing in relief. Before their first night together, Carly hadn't been touched in months. Now she thinks that she doesn't know how she survived without this, how she walked around with that much sexual tension coiling in her body, but Johnny is more than willing to milk every last bit of it from her. He presses her thighs up against her chest, her ankles on his shoulders and his hands on her hips. He opens her wide, and she should feel exposed but she just feels close to him. She feels like he's thrusting so deep that he'll hit her stomach, feels like Jax never felt secure enough to treat her like a woman and not a flower. </p><p>Johnny isn't afraid to take exactly what he wants from her. He slams into her willing body over and over, harder, deeper, moving her legs into whatever position he wants them in. Her hand slips down between their bodes, fingers frantically circling her clit because she's so close. So close she can taste it. Taste him, taste them. They're both sweating and it's hard to tell which of them are making which sounds. Moans, pants, gasps, the slap of skin, the hum of the air conditioner, the bed groaning as it hits the wall - it's all merging. It's all one big sound of sex and she doesn't want to come, but she needs to. Her legs clench around him as it all comes undone, her fingers and his cock creating a dream team of sensations that has her shuddering, back arched so high that it's barely on the bed. </p><p>She's lost in the relief of orgasm and her body is starting to protest the amount of abuse he's putting it through now that the endorphins are slacking off, but she doesn't want him to stop either. The doubt creeps in. Do they stick around and bask? Will he bolt? Will she? So she closes her eyes and holds on tight, hands running across his sweat slicked back and urging him onward. After a couple minutes of his thrusting and her hips that skillfully keep meeting each one, he tenses and shudders with a gasp that sounds suspiciously like her name is mixed in with the breath. </p><p>Johnny collapses down next to her, laughing breathlessly and murmuring a few random obscenities. They're both sweating and hot to the touch so they lay apart, flat on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. When she starts to feel self-conscious and reaches for a sheet, a hand stops her and tugs her close to him instead. Without a word, Johnny wraps his arms around her, tucking her against his body. His heart is still racing and so is hers, and she can't tell if it's from the exertion or the emotion. </p><p>They lay in amicable silence, his hand stroking her hair, the forcefulness gone and replaced with a reverence that makes her feel safe. It's been a long time since she could lay in a man's arms and just be quiet. She listens to him breathe, listens to what he doesn't say, what he doesn't need to say, the excuses that don't come, the let-down that's nowhere to be found. The longer the quiet stretches on, the longer she knows it's safe to stop holding her breath. </p><p>She thinks that they started out as whiskey, rough and fast, but now they're a lot more like that champagne, softer but still flammable. It feels good.</p>
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